He Led Me
by GuardianofWilds
Summary: It's Leia's wedding day, and the winds of change bring with them memories...some that are not her own. In order to move on with her life, she must come to terms with her father's past, and he's willing to help. Second part will be up as soon as I finish i


_He Led Me_

_There are some things in life that are inexplicable, which are so uncannily uncanny that we hold them to ourselves, always. In the corners of our memory, we let them grow into stories that, to ourselves, define us, that make us unique, for they are ours alone. Perhaps a little prayer delivered a loved one from death; perhaps a fortune cookie actually predicted the events of the next day; perhaps a horoscope worked in exact reverse. _

_Or perhaps a more supernatural occurrence remains in your memory…_

A sea of faces washed me slowly down the crowded Coruscanti streets. Alien faces, human faces, wistful faces, beaming faces; I could see all of them. I knew I should be happy, ecstatic in fact, but an odd old pain was tugging at my heart. A bitterness- long left to fester- was infecting my special day. Even as unfamiliar faces shouted countless variants of "Congratulations" and a cheery sun warmed my face, sorrow was steadily swallowing me.

Not often does a woman about to marry her dream scoundrel think about such unimportant things as who's going to give her away, who's going to lead her up the aisle to the unthinkable terror lurking about the countless steps keeping her from eternity. In an Alderaanian ceremony, the bride's ascension of these steps symbolizes rising to meet the new life waiting for her in the form of an equally terrified groom, despite any fear of falling or failure. But, as the massive oro wood doors of the Alderaanian Consulate were opened before me, a familiar phrase came to mind.

Easier said than done.

Of course, I was at a bit of a disadvantage. Were I a normal woman in her late twenties, I would have had an escort for the ascent, someone who was there for me if fear took me over, just like he had been from my first moments. He would have been a good man, a man whom I never could have considered distrusting.

I could have looked into his deep and loving eyes, and known, without the slightest doubt, that, if nothing else, I was his angel. Everyone needs someone to be their anchor, protecting them from the rough seas beneath, from the vicious undertows that can so easily drag them down to an eternity of loneliness. In that way, I was normal.

I needed a father.

But I wasn't a normal woman.

I was Leia Organa, and I was able to count the minutes until I became Leia Organa Solo.

The environment was nothing but cheer, faked or otherwise. Every wall was temporarily whitewashed; every surface of every size, shape, and purpose was graced with a flower or two, and everyone I saw had something akin to or with the appearance of a smile on their face. Why was I the gloomiest thing at my own wedding? Searching my memory for something even remotely light-hearted, I recalled Han's reaction when he was informed that there would be complete strangers at the ceremony.

"Politicians I've never seen before, who I probably didn't ever _want _to see, much less share a drink with, added in with some government high honchos, tabloid reporters, the occasional pedestrian, Luke, Lando, and Chewie, and there's our guest list. Sorry sister, but not in all seven hells."

The Solo Stubborn Syndrome was great a foe to battle, but of course, my amazing methods of persuasion triumphed, again.

As I let myself be herded into the back room where I would be outfitted, I wished those same methods would work on me.

I wanted to believe that my father, the one I so greatly despised, didn't matter that day. I wanted to believe that I could just forget.

But I couldn't.

For some reason, I couldn't ever see Anakin Skywalker in anything resembling a positive light. Even when I felt the need to try, I couldn't imagine him as the man who had loved a woman enough to marry her, who had enough respect for life to add to it, who had enough wisdom and control to be a Jedi. All I knew and all that I trusted to know was the man who surrendered to the dark side, helped bring a vile Sith dictator into power, destroyed the Jedi Order to which he had once belonged, killed his former master, and destroyed the only home I had ever known.

And yet, he had fathered two children some time before that.

Luke and I.

It was easy for Luke to see the good in our father. He had seen behind the deathly mask of Darth Vader. He had felt light where surely there had been only darkness; had watched as the Emperor was cast down by his own right hand. At the end, he knew how Anakin loved his son.

I, however, had heard only a sad plea for forgiveness in some cramped apartment on Bakura.

For all he did, it wasn't enough.

Yet, standing still as smallish, white-robed women laced up my wedding gown, a part of me wished that my father was there, that he would appear as he had at Bakura and prove to me that he was the man Luke was so sure he had been. In the secret gardens of my heart, where only the fondest hopes tread, I longed to see the man who sired me beam with pride as his little girl chose her path.

Another part of me saw Alderaan shattering into a thousand pieces; never more tried, and never more loved.

What madness could have me wishing for the impossible…and the impossibly revolting? Why would I want the destroyer of Alderaan in the Alderaanian Consulate?

But, despite any denials or doubts, the little girl in me wished Daddy would come home to her…he had been gone so long…

Firmly, I dispelled any thoughts of Anakin Skywalker from my mind. This was my wedding day, and besides, things were different when Daddy was more commonly known as Darth Vader, scourge of the Jedi and innocents everywhere.

I neither moved nor spoke, rooting my feet to the floor and my thoughts to anything that didn't have to do with my father. The attendants made their exit with scarce a sound. Their steps jerked with worry, seeing the bride-to-be in such a sad silence, surely a sign of a bad future. They couldn't know… My future wasn't what worried me- with Han, everything had to be okay- but my past. Not even _my _past, but the heritage I was saddled with.

The heritage I so greatly wished I could be proud of.

With almost fearful deliberation, I turned to the mirror, so mockingly truthful in its depictions. Why did the face in the glass look so much like the forbidden pictures I held in my heart, the few sacred images of my mother, the foolish woman who had for some reason put her trust in a man who became a murderer? How could she have been so mistaken? Or had she always known…

Was that the legacy I carried into my marriage, one of fools and killers?

With the desperation of a starving street child, I yearned for something that would make me more than that, some kind stranger who would give me what I needed, something to pride myself upon.

I had always been a princess, daughter of a viceroy, royal by blood and birth. With that mask aside, what was I, the love child of a traitorous Jedi and some nondescript idiot?

_Not so…_

I about-faced with a jerk, searching the empty dressing room for the voice's source.

The nothingness taunted me, laughed at my foolish attempts to tie the spirit to my world.

The voice I heard was in my head.

Was I going crazy?

Determined to evade the melancholy thoughts pursuing me, my hands busied themselves with the jewelry carefully laid out on a decorative tabletop. Intricate silver earrings with settings of Corsica gems were a welcome, if momentary, distraction from the questions pounding in my head. So small and delicate…like a life, brilliantly beautiful in its prime, but unappealing and dull when left too long in the dust. The spirit, invisible in life, and, in death, one with the Force…forever segregated from the living…

Unless it was the spirit of Anakin Skywalker.

Why was this happening to me now, on my wedding day? I had known about my origins ever since Endor, yet I'd never felt this way.

Perhaps it was because only now did it really matter, only now that I was becoming more than Leia Organa. What would Leia Skywalker have been like, had she ever been given the opportunity to exist?

Or was she already there, somewhere inside me…

Like _he _seemed to be…

_Why do you hate me so much?_

So much for distraction.

_Leave me alone._

_Whether I speak or stay silent, I will still be here. Isn't that what you so detest?_

_I don't care! I just want you out of my head!_

_Do you really think that keeping me away makes you less my daughter?_

The princess wanted to stop listening.

The woman knew she couldn't.

Unable to give in, I attempted one last defiance. I changed the flow of my thoughts to the nerf-herder that had brought me there, the laser-brained moron that I was about to marry.

Han Solo was an egotistical, obnoxious, and scruffy-looking rouge, certainly not the kind of man dear Daddy would have approved of. In my mind's eye, I pictured Han as a normal father would have seen him, a good-for-nothing tough who had no money where his mouth was; though he clearly wanted to put some there. Yes, maybe he was an Alliance general and widely renowned as a hero, but a part of him would always be the hotshot smuggler I had met in a Death Star detention block, the scoundrel I had come to love.

That fact made me proud, simply because it couldn't possibly make my father proud too.

_He's a good pilot at the least…_

_Who asked you?_

Despite myself, the conversation in my head was having more of a calming effect than anything else. Though the princess found herself increasingly disgusted with each moment, she was, at the same time, fading away. I think she had been dying a little ever since I met Han. But what was I becoming instead?

_Your mother wouldn't want you angry on your wedding day, Leia._

At the sound of his voice, roaring waves of fury washed over me.

What right did he have to speak of my mother?

She was my secret refuge, her place in my heart a welcome retreat from the life that I lived, an extension of the world of "What Could Have Been". The precious little I remembered of her was my treasure to hold; me alone, not even Luke. Of her, I knew only the love a mother gives her children, the good part that no one else could see, that was mine alone.

In a sense, she was mine.

How dare _he_ try to lay some claim?

_How would _you _know what my mother would want?_

Finally, there was no answer. Grim satisfaction at the wound I had inflicted mixed awkwardly with guilt, though I couldn't explain why. I had to admit that the satisfaction was far greater.

Let him hurt, as he had hurt so many others.

But then he replied.

_I loved your mother…until the end…_

His voice shook terribly, wrenched with tears that would never be seen.

_Everything I did…I did for her…_

He sighed in near defeat.

_But I suppose there's no way for me to prove that, is there?_

Anything in my mind that vaguely resembled a thought promptly vaped itself.

Love?

Darth Vader was supposed to be beyond love…

Was the Lord of the Sith truly, completely, dead?

The sorrow in his voice made me want to believe…to believe that Anakin wasn't just a fairy tale, a foolish hope…

But the princess in me was ever obstinate.

It couldn't be true; it had to be some fantasy brought about by pre-wedding nerves, something else, anything else, as long as it wasn't real.

Because then everything I had believed about him would be wrong.

I tried to inject as much disbelief into my mind-voice as I could, wishing all along that I meant it more, that part of me wasn't trying to grasp some truth in his words…

_No, _I replied bluntly. _No there is not._

Another long silence.

_Then I guess I'll have to find one, won't I?_

I simply refused to take it. With more feeling than was perhaps necessary, I slammed a barrier between his voice and mine, willing with all of me that he would be silent.

In hindsight, I don't think he had much else to say anyway.

Suddenly drained, I leaned heavily on the jewelry table. At least he was gone; at least I could have some peace before my wedding. For normal women, that was a given.

Could _anything_ in my life ever be normal?

The heavy wooden door opened ever so little, yielding a small boy with hair of a sandy hue and inquisitive blue eyes.

He looked familiar somehow…

I turned to see him better, newly intent on memorizing every moment of my special day, and found, with mild shock that I couldn't take my eyes off him.

They stuck to him, ringing warning tones of recognition, but I seemed unable to place it.

He was dressed in the same snowy robe that all the other children wore, but it fitted him differently. The heavy cloth hung on him like mist, not sagging or sinking, voluminous as it was. His face was young and fresh, glowing with the pale inner light you see in all children, and yet something about him seemed to glow even brighter. Though his hands lay idle at his sides, I could tell by a glance that they were able and dexterous, perfect for work with droids and such. His skin was heavily tanned from the harsh light of some world's sun, possibly suns. He had the height of nine or ten years of life, and probably would have been thought average for such. He could have been any manner of boy from any kind of world, but there was something about him that hooked me, that refused to allow me to tear myself away. After a few moments spent in staring, I began to realize what it was…

It was the way he stood, so lightly, like gravity didn't bind him to the floor, and the imploring look in his eyes. It was almost as if his presence was a question, for which I had no answer.

His feet shifted slightly as he spoke.

"They want you out there now. I think they might be waiting or something. Can't you go wherever you want at your own wedding? It seems like you would be able to…"

His question was…interesting. Gently, I lowered myself to his level, drinking in those inquiring eyes. I had the feeling that the real question was more than he had voiced.

A little mirth leaked into my countenance. What a curiously curious boy…

"You would think, wouldn't you. Sometimes people make rules for you, though, and when they're as silly as having to go somewhere at a certain time, what's the use in resisting?"

He wrinkled his nose doubtfully, and seemed to consider for a moment. His eyes sparkled when he realized I was waiting for his answer. Like any young boy would, he hesitated quite a bit before responding.

"Yeah, I guess so," he conceded. Almost reproachfully, he looked down at his hands, and in that moment I saw the scars. They were all over his him, all over his arms, his legs, his face…

For just a moment, his left eye bore the mark of a knife fight.

Then it was gone, like it had never been there.

Chills ran up my spine with horrible insistence. There was something there that I wasn't seeing, I knew. Quietly, I searched that strange child's face for an answer to a question I didn't know.

_Looks like I'm not the only one with questions…_

"Looks like I'm not the only one with questions," he said quietly, and reached an unblemished hand to touch my cheek.

I can't say what it was, but _something _in me burned to feel his touch, like refuge in the rain, something thought lost forever, so blessedly there still…

I suppose it was home.

After an eternity, he spoke, with tenderness that didn't belong to a child.

"I'm very happy for you, you know. But why do you accept the unimportant things, and fight what you need to survive?"

My eyes widened in utter shock, grappling with the impossibility in the boy's words. Then the face clicked in my memory, and brought me back to an old holocube sitting on an auction shelf, partially obscured by the Tatoonie sand.

It couldn't be…

In wonder, I raised a trembling hand to touch him, to know for sure that he was real, that I wasn't just crazy or inane beyond hope of recovery…

He faded underneath my fingers…

And then he could fade no more…gone…

As if he had never been there.

Alone and shaking, I began to wonder if I was delirious. Had I just imagined my father, the boy he had once been, here, in the dressing room of the Alderaanian Consulate, or was I just ill? I'd never heard of a woman hallucinating at her wedding before, but then again, those women weren't marrying Han Solo…

No matter the excuse, I couldn't help but run my hand over my cheek, where he had touched me. It had felt real enough…like a mild flame had flown from his fingers to scorch my face, without leaving a mark… In a way, the feeling had been…pleasant…

An unsure knock on the door snapped me out of my reverie. The poor attendant in the doorway appeared to be chewing off his fingertips in anxiety, his snowy jacket quite rumpled from multiple stressed wrings. Bubbles of unenthusiastic laughter nearly escaped my throat, seeing how inconsiderate I had been. Too many people, Han and I included, had spent too much time on this wedding for me to ruin it with upsetting thoughts. Forget Anakin Skywalker for a few hours, move along with my life: couldn't be so hard to do. With a determined spring in my step, I followed the frazzled usher out of the dressing room, for a blessed moment erasing my spectral sire and his damn apparitions from my immediate memory. Today was a happy day; just forget…

Instantly, my mood picked up. I was about to marry the moron of my dreams, and everything was set up perfectly. Though glitterflies still irritated the sides of my stomach, all my fears dissipated the moment they chose to surface.

I was unafraid.

As I slipped through the doorway, an ocean of faces greeted me.

Immediately, one stood out.

Probably because his eyes were locked on my face, his hair was sandy blonde…

And his eyes were ever questioning…

But what I saw then was no small boy. Adrift in a sea of lives, I glimpsed a young man, tall and resolute. Through the Force, I felt him calling out to me, long and wondering…wondering if I had the power to forgive…

I wished strongly that I could just lift my chin and go on…

But I could not.

Instead, I stepped pointedly out of my right slipper, pretending not to know where I had misplaced it. In the ensuing confusion I stalked into the crowd, searching the masses for one face alone…

A firm hand gripped my shoulder, forcing me to face him…

I didn't want to…but I had to…

I wished I knew why.

So I turned, and felt myself melting into the carpet.

His eyes were interrogating me.

_Why do you judge what you do not know?_

_Why do you force so much pain upon yourself?_

_Why won't you hear?_

_Why won't you listen to your own father?_

In any other situation, the answers would have come to me easily, I was sure. Not then…

Not when Anakin Skywalker was handing me my slipper.

"Pardon me, milady, but I think you dropped this…"

Though his voice barely heightened above a whisper, it roared in my ears. That voice…so much like Luke's, so much like my brother's… Simple though his words were, they still seemed to reach for me, trying to seize part of me for himself, to draw his daughter closer…

Gently, he pressed the shoe into my hand, and, unconsciously, my fingers gripped his.

Silent flame licked my fingertips, coursing up my arm with liquid heat, screaming familiarity. Nothing had ever felt more right than the dexterous strength of his digits around mine, telling old tales of adventure and passion…

The legacy he brought to me now…

The crowds around us disappeared, banished by the sheer presence that was my father…

That was Anakin Skywalker…

The great things done with those hands, the thousands of worlds those questioning eyes had seen swam in my thoughts. I felt the smooth metal of a lightsaber hilt in my grasp, and knew it was mine in every way; I heard the low rumble of a ship's engines and knew I was home. I heard the cries of thousands of innocents, and knew they were counting on me. I knew their problem.

I knew I could fix it.

The need to move, the need to breathe in this strength of mine, became intoxicating. Once so powerless, I had power. Once so low, I was so raised.

The Chosen One…

Slowly, I raised my head, to hear him speak.

"Perhaps, in the future, milady, it would be wise to hold on to your things more closely. Hold on too loosely, and they'll fall. But, that's not all you have to be careful about. Always remember: hold too tight and they will break, beyond any hope of repair."

For an instant, his eyes reflected a mighty fire. Pain flashed across his dashing young features, and I had the mad urge to soothe him, to reach out to him and banish the aches, the hurts that so clearly haunted him.

I stopped myself, and he shook away the flames.

"Granted," he continued, "it's unlikely you could do much damage to a shoe. But there are far more precious things to break…"

Mystified and nearly beyond thought, I responded, with some deliberation.

"What…what kind of precious things?" He was absolutely dizzying…

Those searching eyes seemed, for a moment, to have found what they sought.

"All kinds of vital things…lives, worlds…the ones closest to your heart…sons…daughters…"

His other hand reached to seize mine, releasing all their inner fire, binding us together. The burn was…wonderful. Without a doubt, for the first time in my life, I was sure I was home…

Home…

_She wanted a home in the Lake Country…_

_It didn't happen…_

"You could never know how much I loved her…how I love you…"

_Leia…_

"Leia…"

Her…

My mother…

Could I see some reflection of her in his eyes?

I had seen what love looked like before. I knew Han loved me, and I lived for the light in his eyes when he saw me. There was no way I could have lived without it, but, as I saw the same glow in Anakin's eyes, I wished I hadn't…

If I hadn't, I could've dismissed that light for something else.

I saw it there, and I knew it was a reflection of my mother truer than my eyes could have ever beheld…

They did leave a legacy for me, and I saw it clearly in my father's love.

But then…

Why weren't they with me?

Why had they never been in my life, nothing more than shadows and half memories?

The contradiction sickened me…

So, with much more effort than I would have liked, I pulled away…

Holding my slipper, not too loose, not too tight.

The outside world reappeared around me, tugging me back into its chaos, back into the hallway leading to the converted conference chamber…

Leading to Han.

Though my heart soared to think of my nerf-herder again, I still looked back…

Looking for someone…

But he was gone.

As if he never had been there…

Yet, I felt him still, his gentle hands enclosing mine…

Then I realized where I was…

And that I was late for my own wedding.

Resolutely, I locked it all away. Jamming all my doubts, fears, and hopes into a mental closet gifted a certain tension, but I was willing to deal with it. Whether my heritage really mattered or not, I would make it insignificant for a while…

For Han…

The reality of my current situation finally caught up with me.

Sweet stars…I was about to marry him!

Suddenly lost and dizzy, my head was overflowing with memories.

Seeing the idiot when he ran into the detention block, shooting and cursing without a thought for prudence, had not been a good first impression. The trip down the garbage chute had only added to it. In fact, Han had made almost nothing but bad impressions on me for years, and yet there I was, thoroughly encased in white, trying to make myself ready to marry him.

Terrified though I was, this fact did not surprise me.

I remembered the joy on his face as the second Death Star exploded above our heads, the tenderness in his hands as he held me on Bakura, the loving stupidity he showed on Dathomir, and knew why I was so scared.

I didn't want to let him down, like my father had so clearly let my mother down.

I would be better than he had been, I would.

I'd show him.

I'd show Han too.

Because I loved him, and because I wanted to love my father.

Resolve straightened my back, bringing back glimpses of royal carriage and dignity, so long thought lost. Perhaps my past was trying to bring me down; perhaps that was Anakin's plan. Well, if it was, it wasn't going to work. I was a Skywalker, and Skywalkers have a way with getting their way.

Without saying anything, he had told me so.

It barely occurred to me that Anakin was a Skywalker as well…


End file.
